


in all the years of struggle it seems we're making way

by gamerfic



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - Various Authors, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Breast Fucking, But He Gets Better, F/M, Fade Sex, Felassan is Tranquil, Flashbacks, Light Angst, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, POV Alternating, Past Female Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age), Post-Trespasser, Rite of Tranquility, The Fade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:41:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 16,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26202091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gamerfic/pseuds/gamerfic
Summary: Ellana can't fix everything that has gone wrong in Thedas since the Breach. But maybe she can still fix this one thing.
Relationships: Felassan/Female Lavellan (Dragon Age)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 20
Collections: Black Emporium 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BellumGerere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellumGerere/gifts).



> Thanks for a fun prompt, BellumGerere!
> 
> A note on the tags as they interact with your DNWs: All sexual interactions between Ellana and Felassan in this fic take place at times when he is not Tranquil.

It's been years since Ellana visited Clan Lavellan - not since before the Conclave, and the Breach, and everything that followed. The fabric of the tents, the designs on the aravels, and the heavy woodsmoke scent of the cookfires are the same as they were in her youth, but so much else has changed. Elves she remembers as awkward adolescents have grown into adulthood and taken their place as hunters and halla keepers, parents and artisans. Keeper Deshanna's Second has become her First, and recruited a new Second who was barely out of diapers the last time Ellana saw her. The dark-eyed boy with whom she shared her first kiss is married now, with two dark-eyed boys of his own. Everything is familiar yet alien, a memory now gone hazy and dreamlike with neglect. 

Even stranger is the clan's new way of life. Deshanna's seat on the Wycome city council and the alliance Varric helped to broker have afforded Clan Lavellan a true homeland for the first time in living memory. With Varric's aid (and with his nearly bottomless purse) they purchased lands from the estate of a minor noble and drew up a legal trust to ensure no human would encroach upon their sovereignty. The arrangement is new, but stable enough for the clan to allow itself to hope this hard-won peace will last. Structures of wood and clay brick have begun to spring up amidst the threadbare tents, and the grass is growing tall around the wheels of the aravels. _If all this could happen within three years,_ Ellana wonders as she strolls past grazing halla and the foundations of houses yet to be built, _will I even recognize my clan anymore in thirty?_

Keeper Deshanna was among the first to have a permanent home built, no doubt wishing to lead by example. Its unweathered walls are pristine white, and its red door smells of new paint and freshly cut wood when Ellana knocks on it. Deshanna flings it open wide and sweeps Ellana up in a tight embrace. She's different too: her black hair gone greyer, her face more deeply lined, the blue ink of her vallaslin faded with time. But Ellana is even more different now, with her missing arm and vanished vallaslin serving as the outward signs of an inner transformation she can't begin to explain. 

Long ago Deshanna's hands, now gnarled with age, had tapped Dirthamen's marks into Ellana's face as Ellana held herself tense and silent beneath their steady touch. Deshanna studies Ellana's bare face with a furrowed brow, and Ellana knows she must be baffled by the tattoos' absence. But her confusion doesn't stop her from taking Ellana by the elbow and saying with a kind smile, "It's been too long, _da'len._ Please come inside. We have so much to talk about." 

The interior of Deshanna's modest home shows the blending of cultures, with human-style furnishings but Dalish designs woven into the linens and painted on the walls. So does the meal on her table: Marcher-baked bread with a spread of foraged berries, Antivan tea sweetened with wild honey and halla milk. The conversation stays light at first, full of reminiscing and gentle laughter as they enjoy the food and drink, but inevitably it must turn toward weightier topics. "I'm sorry I didn't come back to you sooner," Ellana says in a small voice as she swirls the dregs of her tea. She's long ago surpassed her old Keeper in power and influence, but the dynamics of youth still linger. "I've missed you all so much." 

"You had good reason to stay away," says Deshanna, refilling their cups. "And your absence had a purpose. You've achieved incredible things." 

"But I put my clan in danger, too." Ellana could never prove Duke Antoine's persecution of Clan Lavellan had anything to do with her role as Inquisitor, but she has always feared her prominence made the clan a tempting scapegoat for the Venatori. 

The possibility doesn't seem to bother Deshanna. "Perhaps. If you did, the risk was worth the reward. Without you, would we have our new homeland? Or my place on the council?" 

"I suppose not." 

"Then you see why you don't have to apologize," Deshanna says firmly. "But this can't be the only reason you chose to come back now." 

Ellana can't help feeling stung by her former Keeper's words even though she knows they were meant in curiosity, not judgment. She doesn't want to talk about how her own guilt and shame over everything she's done and everything she's become have divided her from her people. Nor does she like to admit that she probably wouldn't have returned at all if she wasn't seeking a favor. "I need to ask you something, _hahren_. I'm not sure you'll know the answer, but I have to try." 

"If I can assist you, I will." 

"You might not even remember this, it was so long ago...but after the Arlathven - not the one last year, but the one before it - there was a mage from another clan who stayed the night at our camp on his way back to his own lands. His name was Felassan. Do you know who I mean?" 

"Of course I do. Felassan is a difficult man to forget." 

"Then you can understand why I'm looking for him. His knowledge might be valuable to the Inquisition." 

"I thought the Inquisition had been disbanded." 

"It was. I'm just following up on my own about a few things I didn't have time to look into while it was active." Despite what Deshanna said about not keeping secrets, there's so much Ellana hasn't told her - about Solas, and his plans, and the truth of the Creators and their long-ago misdeeds, and the small cadre of allies who had sworn to carry the soul of the Inquisition forward. For now, it seems like the best way to keep Clan Lavellan safe, even as she hates her own reticence in the face of Deshanna's openness. 

"I see." Thankfully, Deshanna doesn't press for further details. Her brows knit together as if she's struggling to recall something. "I never saw Felassan again after he visited us. But I heard news of him at the Arlathven last year. I'm told one of the clans near Val Chevin has taken him in." 

"Oh, good. He's alive, then." 

Deshanna's frown deepens. _She's not trying to remember,_ Ellana realizes belatedly. _There's something she doesn't want to tell me._ "He is. But if my information is accurate, you may not like the state you'll find him in." 


	2. Chapter 2

He hasn't dreamed of anything for a long time now. He knows this should alarm him, but it doesn't. Nothing has alarmed him for a long time, either. No matter what happens, his mind remains as blank and smooth as the surface of a lake on a windless day. _Tranquil,_ the humans would say, and he supposes it's as good a term as any. 

The Dalish are his people now, in a way they weren't before. He can't remember the last time he saw a human. It must have been during his journey with Celene and Michel, before he entered his current state, before Clan Tarasylah found him in the wilderness and took pity on him. He remembers everything about his former life - about Imshael, and the eluvian network, and Fen'Harel and his plans - but it hardly seems relevant to anything now. Besides, no one around him has ever bothered to ask him about who he was before. 

Now his existence is humble and useful, devoid of adventure or great danger. He is content to aid Clan Tarasylah with manual labor and simple enchantments, bringing them the value of added magic without added risk of demonic possession. The clan's Keeper directs his work and provides him with necessary raw materials, and ensures he will always have food, clothing, and shelter in exchange for his contributions. He no longer needs to struggle for survival, question his beliefs, or agonize over the proper course of action. The bubble of calm around him remains unbroken - until the day Ellana comes. 

He recognizes her at once, though he knows it doesn't show in his face. She's changed since the last time he saw her - but then again, so has he. "Hello, Ellana," he says, then resumes his work of chiseling a frost rune into the head of an ironbark spear. 

She grabs his hands with one of hers, forcing them into stillness. (She's lost the other hand now, he realizes, though it's not the sort of observation he would bring up unless she does.) "Creators," she breathes. "Felassan, what happened to you?" 

"I woke up like this." 

"Is he making a joke?" asks another woman - her hair black, her face scarred, her voice Nevarran-accented. He doesn't know her, but it's clear Ellana does. 

"I can't tell," says Ellana. "But he's definitely not joking about being Tranquil." 

The Nevarran woman steps closer and peers into his face. "He has no brand. The Chantry did not do this to him. Nor did the Seekers." 

"We don't know anything more about what happened to him than you do," says the Keeper, who is standing on Ellana's other side. "What he says may well be true. Some of our hunters came across him in the wilderness a few winters ago. He was like this when they found him." 

"Thank you for taking him in," says Ellana, "but now he's coming with us." 

The Keeper draws herself up to her full height and declares, "Felassan is not a slave to be bought and sold between clans. Not even if the former Inquisitor demands it." 

Ellana does not react visibly. "I _demand_ nothing of you or your clan, Keeper. I am here because I wished to visit an old friend again. He addressed me by name. You know he knows me. If he is as free as you claim he is, at least give me one last chance to ask him the questions I need to ask him. Afterwards, I won't trouble you any longer." 

The Keeper's lips squeeze tightly together, turning down at the corners. "Very well. I will give you tonight. But I will not let you put him in danger by removing him from Clan Tarasylah. There are many in the world who would not treat a Tranquil as kindly as we do." 

"Believe me," says the Nevarran woman, "we know." 

They take him to a clearing in the woods just beyond Clan Tarasylah's main camp, where they have pitched a tent beneath the shadow of gnarled trees and behind a thick screen of brambles and brush. Ellana stares into his eyes as he sits cross-legged beside the fire. "Cassandra," she says to the other woman, "I'm not sure this is going to work." 

"Because you do not know how he became Tranquil," says Cassandra. 

Ellana nods. "Should we even try?" 

"If I am interpreting the Lord Seeker's journal correctly, if we fail, the spirit does not touch him and nothing changes." 

"Then I guess things can hardly get worse." Now Ellana speaks directly to him. "Felassan, is there anything else you can tell us about what happened to you? Anything at all." 

His memories of his transformation are hazy and confusing, as if the force that took away his magic also clouded his recollections. "I was meeting a contact in the Fade. I had to tell him I had failed at a task he set me to. He lashed out at me in response. In the Fade, I felt myself die. When I woke, I was as I am now." 

"Does the Keeper know this?" asks Cassandra. 

"No. She never asked me about it, so I had no reason to tell her." 

"Why should she? Clearly, the only important concern is how well you can enchant." Ellana sighs, which makes him think her words might have been sarcastic. "Felassan, we might be able to reverse what happened to you. Do you want us to try?" 

She must know he can't have an opinion about it, yet she asks anyway. "If you believe it is the best course of action, I will allow it. I remember I have faith in your judgment." 

Wordless communication, incomprehensible to him, passes between Ellana and Cassandra. "If this works," says Cassandra, "his Keeper will be furious." 

"That's the least of my worries," says Ellana with a grimace. 

He lies on the ground and allows Ellana to restrain him with a barrier spell, accepting it as a precaution for his own safety. "Try to relax," she tells him, which isn't difficult. Placid acceptance is his default state now, and he won't grow bored or restless no matter how long her efforts take. This is good, because whatever they are doing to him is anything but speedy. 

He can't use magic anymore, of course, but he can still sense it washing over him, feel the myriad sensations it produces as she tweaks and prods. Cassandra drones on in his ear, reading excerpts from the human Chant of Light mingled with mantras and incantations he doesn't recognize. It goes on so long without obvious effect that he concludes nothing is going to happen - until, all at once, everything does. 

Something brushes against him - not touching his physical form but his mind, sending a shiver through his entire being. He shudders against the barrier binding him and feels his head loll backwards into the invisible restraints. "Ellana…" Cassandra begins. 

"I know. The summoning worked. The spirit is here." 

"Now what?" 

"You tell me." 

The entity in his mind - the spirit, he supposes - surges forward. He offers it no resistance, though he somehow implicitly understands that he could cast it out of him anytime he wished. Its gentle touch becomes firm pressure, then a slicing and tearing sensation, as if a long-healed scar is being ripped open. His back arches involuntarily and his hands squeeze into fists as white-hot agony courses through him. Yet he welcomes it, knowing it as the unavoidable price of recovering all the things that never should have been stripped from him. "Careful!" Cassandra barks, her voice sounding far away. 

"He's doing it, not me." 

" _How?_ Are you sure this is right?" 

_Don't stop,_ he tries to say. Nothing but a wordless howl comes out. Something unlocks inside him, like the final tile of a mosaic being placed, but the pain doesn't vanish when the shift finally comes. Only his consciousness does, spiraling down into merciful oblivion as if it understands that he can bear no more. 


	3. Chapter 3

"It could be worse," Ellana tells Cassandra as they secure Felassan's unconscious form in the back of the aravel. "We could have had to steal this thing." 

Cassandra sighs in disgust. "That is _not_ reassuring." 

Judging by the stony expressions of the two halla keepers serving as an escort, Clan Tarasylah isn't reassured either. Any hope of a discreet escape back to the ship that brought them here was dashed by Felassan's screaming. The Keeper was just as angry as Cassandra had predicted, but her fear of a newly restored mage attracting the attention of demons to her clan outweighed her sense of ownership toward Felassan. It took relatively little to persuade her that everyone would be better off if Felassan were taken to Clan Lavellan. Yet the tense set of the Keeper's jaw told Ellana she'd made an enemy here today. _Easy to talk big about treating Tranquil well until they stop being conveniently Tranquil,_ she thinks sourly as the aravel bumps down the deeply rutted path toward the harbor. 

Leliana arranged the ship for them - a humble yet reliable brig, crewed by experienced sailors who are maybe not quite pirates but are extremely practiced at looking the other way when necessary. They never ask too many questions when the Divine hires them. Helping their only passengers to load an unconscious Dalish elf aboard under cover of night is far from the strangest thing they've ever been asked to do. A cabin at the stern has been set aside for Ellana and Cassandra's use, and they hurry into it with Felassan slung over Cassandra's shoulders. The crew is making sail quickly without needing to be asked, as if they've done this all before. 

Along one side of the cramped, low-ceilinged space they set up a cot and lay Felassan upon it. Ellana cautiously chalks warding glyphs around it on the floor, the walls, and the timbers above their heads. Cassandra nods in approval, sensing the strength of the wards. "This should help." 

"I hope it won't be necessary," Ellana says. "When he wakes, he'll still recognize me, right?" 

"I have never known reversing the Rite of Tranquility to affect anyone's memories. But you must understand...You've never been there when someone receives the cure. I have. Suddenly experiencing emotions again, after so long without them, is overwhelming for many. They lash out even at those they once knew well. And these were failed Seekers, not mages. With magic back at his disposal, who can say what he will do?" 

"But the ward will hold him...right?" 

Cassandra shrugs. "You know its strength better than I do. If it does not, I have other tools at my disposal." 

"I _really_ don't want you to hit him with templar stuff, Cassandra." 

"Nor do I. But if the choice is between that and the boat sinking…" 

"I get it, I get it." Ellana groans and drops her head into her hands. "I didn't expect things to get this complicated." 

"Thank the Maker that his knowledge will make this worth all the trouble, then." Ellana knows Cassandra well enough to hear the implied challenge behind her words: _His knowledge_ will _make this worth all the trouble, won't it?_ No response she can make will tell the whole truth. While Felassan's experience with the Fade and the Veil is indeed invaluable, it isn't the only reason she wanted to come to his aid. 


	4. Chapter 4

Felassan couldn't say why he had bothered to attend the Arlathven. Its main purpose seemed to be to facilitate the spreading of gossip. While many of the rumors he heard were amusing enough, they had little bearing on his actual goals or needs. The few bits of useful information he did learn were things he had already known or suspected. As for the opportunity to influence the practices and decisions of the Dalish clans, such political affairs hardly mattered to a man who was by now Dalish in name alone. 

Despite his frustrations with the Arlathven in specific and the Dalish in general, he had to concede that some of the elves he met were pleasant enough. There would always be attendees who represented everything he disliked about the Dalish - insular and provincial, hidebound by tradition, lacking any sense of curiosity about other ways of being or points of view - but there were nearly as many who represented the opposite. Keeper Deshanna, of Clan Lavellan, was one of the latter. His path continually crossed with hers throughout the gathering, and every time they spoke he found himself impressed by her thoughtfulness and integrity, even when her approach was not necessarily the one he would have chosen. When the Arlathven ended and she offered to let him travel with Clan Lavellan until their roads diverged, he jumped at the chance to spend a little longer in the company of a new friend. He had nowhere specific in mind to go, so it was easy to invent an excuse that would keep him with her until she reached the end of the return journey to her clan's lands. Isolation was a price Felassan willingly paid to maintain his integrity, but it didn't keep him from feeling lonely now and again. 

Not unlike its Keeper, Clan Lavellan was a perfect model of Dalish hospitality. It was common for clans to stick together as the Arlathven broke up as a means of prolonging their exchanges in a more private and less structured setting. They accepted him freely and never prodded him for answers, no matter how evasive he became. On the night Deshanna and her companions reunited with the portion of Clan Lavellan that had stayed behind during the gathering, her people welcomed her home with a sumptuous feast. Felassan, of course, was invited to join them. _If my clan had been more like this one,_ he thought appreciatively as he bit into some succulent roasted goat, _maybe I never would have left it._

At dinner, Felassan sat at a place of honor beside the Keeper. Her First - Ellana, she was called - sat at her other side. Deshanna had told him Ellana was newly elevated to her position, with Dirthamen's vallaslin standing out crisp and fresh on her face. But within a few minutes of conversation, he understood she was no fumbling apprentice or callow beginner. She was smart, talented, and inquisitive. Her swift mind delved deeply into many topics, without prejudice or preconceptions. And, much to Felassan's surprise, the current object of her interest was _him_. 

He didn't want to talk too much about himself. It would inevitably lead to awkwardness for everyone involved. Instead, he directed the conversation toward the magic he specialized in: the Fade, the Veil, the world of dreams and the secrets it held. It was an uncommon area of focus among mages these days, since so many of them feared that spending too long in the Fade invited possession. Most Dalish mages either had little to contribute to such a discussion, or tried to move on to another topic as quickly as possible. Not so for Ellana. 

"Do you mean the Veil hasn't always existed?" she demanded, wide-eyed. 

"It's only a theory," he said with a grin and a shrug. "But as theories go, I rather like it. It certainly explains a lot about the fall of Elvhenan." 

Ellana frowned. "I was always told Elvhenan fell because Fen'Harel sealed the Creators away." 

"Just because you're told a thing doesn't necessarily make it true," Felassan retorted, and immediately regretted it when he saw the glimmer of suspicion kindling in Deshanna's eyes. _Careful,_ he told himself, _don't be so eager to seem dangerous and fascinating to this beautiful young woman that you strain the bounds of her Keeper's forbearance._ Hastily, he amended his statement. "Of course, this isn't to say the history we've preserved is false, either. What I meant is, it's difficult to grasp the full shape of the past. We mustn't close our minds to the possibility of learning something new." 

Deshanna agreed, then changed the subject. She didn't want to taint a pleasant celebration with a bitter debate any more than Felassan did. (To be fair, he almost always loved a good debate, but not when having it might cause him to wear out his welcome prematurely.) But Ellana wasn't finished with the conversation. After the feast, she found him leaning against a rock near the halla pens. "I was thinking about what you said," she told him as she sat down on the top rail of the fence. "About history." 

He felt a smile returning to his face. "Careful. These lines of inquiry can be dangerous to follow." 

"Good thing I like a little danger." Her gaze met his with level intensity and unmistakable desire. Belatedly he realized, _I might be in danger of something, too._ "I'd like to hear more." 

"Unfortunately, if you're hoping for a sure and settled answer so everything makes sense, I don't have one. All I have are more questions. The stories I've heard are vague, contradictory even. But many of them suggest things were going wrong in Elvhenan even before Fen'Harel betrayed the Creators. In history, many factors lead to any major event. Circumstances line up and interact in ways we can't predict. Each factor may be meaningless on its own, but taken as a whole, they add up to triumph or catastrophe. Sometimes we can't understand what really happened until centuries after the fact. Sometimes we never do." 

"With all the effort you must spend learning history, how do you ever get a chance to study the Fade, too? I can't imagine when you ever sleep to enter it." 

"So it might appear. But really, history and the Fade are the same thing. Dreams are one of the best ways to find out what people really thought and experienced in the past. If you travel far enough to find the ones preserved in meaningful places, it's amazing what you can learn." 

"How? My dreams barely ever even make sense to me. I can't imagine how they'd help anyone else to learn the truth about history." 

"You'd have a point - _if_ I were only talking about dreaming one person's dream. So you have to look at the same event through the eyes of many dreamers. With any given individual, it's subjective. Everything gets filtered through their biases. But if you enter the dreams of five people, ten people, twenty...then you'll have a clearer picture." 

"I get it," she said pensively. "Or at least I'm starting to. It's different from how I'm used to thinking about things." 

"I appreciate your willingness to think about it at all. Most elves I've met simply don't care. Or they'll entertain the possibilities as long as it entertains _them_ , but tell me I'm living in the past if I ask them to consider it as something more than a diversion." Felassan didn't expect the bitterness he heard in his own voice, let alone to be pouring out this particular insecurity to someone he'd just met. 

"I don't know you well enough to say whether that's true. I suppose it would partly depend on your feelings toward the present." 

"All right, perhaps those other elves have a point. There are a lot of irritating things here in the present. Which is not to say there isn't plenty to appreciate in the here and now, of course." 

Ellana's full lips quirked upward. "Such as?" 

"A stimulating conversation with a beautiful new friend, for example." 

_"Stimulating,"_ she repeated, rolling the word around lasciviously in her mouth. She inclined her head toward the central bonfire, where the sound of pounding drums and trilling flutes was steadily coalescing into music. "And how do you feel about dancing?" 

"I can't say I've done it often, but I pride myself on being open to new experiences." 

She extended her hand to him, and he took it. "Good. Come on. Let's have this one together." 

Dusk had fallen, and the growing glow of the fire stood out orange and hot against the purple night. Elves had already begun to dance around it, alone and in pairs and in long laughing wriggling chains linked elbow to elbow. Someone had thrown bundles of aromatic herbs into the flames, which lent a spicy, musky tinge to the woodsmoke-scented air and made his head spin when he breathed it in. Some Dalish clans tended toward structured and regimented dances, going so far as to use a caller to dictate the steps and patterns. To Felassan's relief, Clan Lavellan preferred a looser style. Still, he let Ellana lead. She positioned his hands on her hips, placed her own on his shoulders, and tipped them both into the whirl of couples before he could talk himself out of it. 

He had no time to ask himself whether he was doing it correctly. The music pulled them both along as inexorably as the flow of the Fade ushering him from one dream to the next. Sensations swirled around him, competing for his attention: the heat of the fire contrasting with the cool night breeze as they spun, the way the rhythm of the drum seemed to overtake his own heartbeat, the weight of her hand against the bare skin of his neck and her jubilant face filling his entire field of vision. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw her exchanging knowing glances with some of her peers from Clan Lavellan, which didn't bother or surprise him. Everyone knew stories and songs and favors and trade goods weren't the only things exchanged at an Arlathven. 

Just when Felassan's energy began to flag, the music slowed and then stopped. The musicians were pausing to shake out their weary fingers and sip water or fermented halla milk, and the dancers seemed ready to rest, too. Ellana passed him a waterskin - who knew where she'd gotten it - and he drank from it, deeply and gratefully. "Need a break?" she asked. 

"I wouldn't say no." 

She tugged at her shirt, which stuck to her sweaty skin and left nothing of her curves to his imagination. "Good. I need to cool off for a bit. Want to sit by the stream with me?" 

He easily grasped the unspoken subtext. "There's nothing I want more." 

She took his hand again and led him away from the fire, into the black of the woods. The rustling and faint moaning surrounding them as they walked told him they were far from the only couple having the same idea. Even in the dark she moved confidently through the terrain, guiding him under branches and over tree roots. Soon the distant rumble of camp and the murmurs of other lovers faded away, replaced with the soft burbling of running water. 

By now Felassan's eyes had adjusted to his new surroundings, and the moonlight reflected off the rippling stream was enough to let him see Ellana sitting down on the bank and dangling her feet over the side. He sat beside her and did the same, shivering at the sudden chill against his bare skin. "There," she said, "much better." 

He leaned toward her and met her lips in a gentle, experimental kiss. She melted against him with a sigh. It was a slow and drawn-out thing, neither one of them wanting to be the first to break away. When she finally did, it was to edge closer to him and wrap her arms around him before picking up where they'd left off. Behind them the drums had begun again, beating out a new rhythm that echoed in counterpoint to his hammering heart. If they did nothing but kiss tonight, it would be more than enough to make for a wonderful memory. But the way she squirmed against the soft ground when his mouth closed around the tip of her ear told him she had more in mind. So did he. 

"Tell me what you want from me," he whispered as his hands slipped beneath her shirt to find the warm skin of her lower back. 

She pulled him closer and whispered back, "I want to make you come." 

"I want to do the same to you." Dalish women weren't always so forward - but then again, Felassan had spent the better part of the day learning that Ellana was not most Dalish women. 

"Good," she said. "Not inside of me, though. I'm not ready for a child." 

"I know spells to prevent that." 

"Sure. I don't." 

"Understood." He couldn't fault her caution; while he knew his own magic was trustworthy, she had no way of knowing the same. "There are many other options." 

"Indeed." She got to her feet, pulling him up after her. "Let's go someplace more private." 

Felassan found it difficult to imagine a more secluded spot, but he took Ellana at her word and followed. They crept along the stream and pushed through a thicket of flowering bushes to find a small clearing with a pedestal in its center. It wasn't until she pressed his back against the stone that he realized what the statue on top depicted. "Fen'Harel?" 

He heard more than saw her smirk. "What? It's perfect. No one will interrupt us here. As for the Dread Wolf himself, he probably has better things to do than spy on us. Unless you find it inappropriate?" 

"I have no such reservations, it's just...You continuously surprise me." 

"In a good way, I hope." 

"Always." 

She kissed him again then, pressing the full length of her body against his, which ended any further conversation. He teased and tugged at her shirt until he could pull it over her head to bare her chest, and she soon did the same to him. Her round, full breasts were the perfect size to fill his hands. He worshipped them with his lips and tongue as she shivered and sighed with mounting pleasure. When she reached for the lacing on his breeches, he gripped her wrist to hold her back. "You first, _vhenan._ " 

Felassan smoothed out his shirt on the ground to create a makeshift bed as Ellana hastily shimmied out of her leggings. (Inwardly, he cursed the moonless night that kept him from fully enjoying the sight.) When he touched her he found she was more than ready for him, but he was in no hurry. He began with almost imperceptible kisses to her inner thighs, followed by light licks around her center, until she eagerly pressed herself against his face and murmured, "Please." Her need was unmistakable, and he couldn't wait to fulfill it. He added his fingers then, curling and twisting them inside her as his tongue continued its tireless rhythm, until she arched and cried out and finally stilled beneath his touch. 

Panting with desire and exertion, almost painfully hard within his breeches, he crawled up to lie beside her. She turned his head toward her to kiss him deeply, heedless of her own taste on his lips. This time, when she started to undo his laces, he didn't stop her. Her fist closed around him, slowly stroking. "How do you want to do this?" she asked. 

A half-dozen possibilities ran lasciviously through Felassan's mind, but he kept coming back to her heaving chest and the softness of her skin. "On your breasts." 

Ellana shifted on the ground to accommodate him as he straddled her torso and nestled himself into her cleavage. Already he could tell he wouldn't last long. She pressed her breasts together around him as he rocked back and forth. When she craned her neck to capture the tip of him between her lips, it was too much to bear. He moaned as he came, covering her from collarbone to belly, taking himself in hand to squeeze out the last drops of his release. 

Feeling limp and sated, he lay down beside her to embrace her from behind, beneath Fen'Harel's indifferent gaze. They rested together for a long time, drowsing amidst the sounds of distant music and the breeze rustling the trees and the faint groans of other couples. Her hair smelled like sweat and the smoke from the campfire. He wanted to hold her until morning, or for even longer, but too soon she stretched in his arms and said, "We should clean up." 

"Yes," he said, hoping his disappointment didn't show. "We should." 

Hand in hand they made their way back to the stream, where they rinsed off and dressed. They stayed together as they returned to camp, making no effort to hide where they'd been or what they'd been doing. The celebration was reaching its end, the music calming as the bonfire dwindled to embers. For a moment, Felassan allowed himself to hope Ellana might ask him back to her bedroll to continue what they'd begun. But instead, she kissed him lingeringly at the entrance to his tent and walked away. "Sleep well," she said. 

"I will," he said to her retreating back, but he knew he wouldn't. 

It would be a terrible idea for Felassan to stay, to find out what more they might become to each other. It still took everything in him to resist the temptation. Ellana was Dalish - open-minded and forward-thinking, true, but Dalish nevertheless. He had never been meant for her life, even in a relatively progressive clan like Lavellan. Pretending he could be happy here would be unfair to her. For the sake of them both, he needed to move on. When morning arrived, he had already prepared his packs and taken down his tent in preparation for departure. Keeper Deshanna knew better than to urge him to linger, but he accepted her offer of breakfast before he left. 

From across the cookfire he spotted Ellana, eating a bowl of the same simple porridge he'd been offered. "I have a gift for you," he said before she could greet him. 

"Oh?" 

He reached into his satchel and pulled out a slender scroll, written on a stray scrap of vellum and tied with a ribbon he'd found on the ground while breaking camp. "Just a little something. It might prove useful if we ever meet again. But I hope you can make use of it in the interim, too." 

Ellana set down her bowl and unrolled the scroll. Her brown eyes rapidly scanned it, taking in the glyphs which described a simple and reliable contraceptive spell. He'd taken a break from packing to write it down the night before. As she read it, her face remained expressionless, and he feared he may have overstepped his bounds. But when she reached the end, her smile broadened. "Thank you. This deserves further study. I hope we meet again someday, Felassan." 

She offered her hand, and he kissed it gently as he said, "Then I will hope for it, too." 


	5. Chapter 5

The ship sails them back to Wycome by way of the Waking Sea, hugging the coastline of the Free Marches in a voyage of several weeks. For the first few days of the journey, Ellana wonders if she's made a terrible mistake. Without reversing Felassan's Tranquility he would never be able to return to his former self and offer the kind of aid she needs from him - but she's starting to wonder if he even has a self to return to. Cassandra warned of the violent emotional shifts common to former Tranquil, but nothing could have prepared Ellana for the reality of Felassan's state. He skipped from mood to mood without any obvious connection or trigger leading from one to the other. Within an hour he could move from violent sobbing to near-catatonia to hysterical laughter to screaming and raging against the impenetrable wall of the ward. 

(She isn't entirely sure whether the ward can even contain him, if he puts his mind to it. Once he was much stronger and more experienced than her. Though she grew in knowledge and skill while he was Tranquil, she has no way of knowing he won't immediately dismantle whatever she builds. She can only hope his own desire to heal and to listen to reason will be enough to restrain him if her magic ever fails to.) 

Ellana never leaves Felassan unattended, barring brief breaks when Cassandra takes over long enough to allow her to attend to her bodily needs. She sleeps when he sleeps, waking at the slightest sign he might be stirring. Isolating herself with him in the cabin isn't a sacrifice; discreet though the crew may be, they've probably never heard noises like the ones he can emit at his most distressed, and she can't ignore their suspicious glances and furtive whispers whenever she does emerge. Better to let her world shrink down to four walls for the time being, to gaze out the single small porthole when she starts to feel trapped, and to keep her focus fixed on him. 

He has to know she's here with him, even if he doesn't acknowledge her presence. Sometimes he stares at her for hours, making her think he's about to come back to himself and start speaking to her as if nothing has changed, but he never does. Otherwise, inconsistency is the sole consistent thing about his behavior. Sometimes he is euphoric, laughing at nothing and devouring his food with gusto. Then he wakes up the next day so depressed and unresponsive that Ellana must feed and clean him. Whenever she must cross the boundary of the ward to care for him, Cassandra is always by her side, ready to intervene with her Seeker's abilities should Felassan ever lash out with his magic. Despite a few momentary scares, she never has to resort to such drastic measures. 

After a few days on the ship and some not-so-subtle questions from Cassandra, Ellana has to tell her everything. Their friendship has been too close for too long for them to keep secrets from each other. At first, Cassandra is taken aback. "You cannot mean to tell me we went to all this trouble simply because you wanted to - " 

"Come on, Cassandra, give me a little credit. He really _does_ know a lot about the Fade and the Veil, maybe more than anyone alive other than Solas." 

Cassandra raises her eyebrows. "Would you honestly have done the same for someone else?" 

It takes a while for Ellana to come up with a response. "I like to think I would have eventually," she finally says. "But I might not have rushed into giving them the cure. To see any other mage made Tranquil...you can't understand how horrible it is, imagining what it would feel like if that were you. And when it's someone I care about…" Her words trail off as her gaze wanders to the sleeping Felassan, who is tossing and turning fitfully in his cot. "He wouldn't have wanted Tranquility. He'd want it undone, even if it meant risking his life." 

"Can you be certain?" 

"I have to be." She turns away, looking at the floor. "You've seen the recovery process up close before. I haven't. How long will he be like this?" 

"Nobody can say. He might recover tomorrow. He might never recover. You already know this." 

It's the answer Ellana is expecting, but not the one she wants to get. She can't stand the thought that Felassan might be like this for the rest of his life, that her well-meaning intervention might have somehow made things worse for him. For all the horrors of his prior state, at least a Tranquil can care for himself and function in the world and exist without being a danger to himself or others. _I've made so many mistakes while thinking I was doing the right thing. I can't let this be another one._ "There has to be something we can do." 

Cassandra sighs. Her face is full of concern and compassion. "I wish I had an answer to give you. This procedure is new and unproven. It has rarely been attempted, and even more rarely has it met with success. We cannot yet reliably predict the effects of reversing the Rite. I do not blame you for choosing as you did, but were I you...I might have chosen differently." 

Ellana smiles wearily. "You're counseling prudence now? I guess we've all changed." 

"We have." Cassandra rests her hand on Ellana's arm. "But I still don't think we should give up. Without you, I might never have found the cure in the first place. I owe it to you to help you if I can. Reforming the Seekers once seemed like an impossible dream, yet little by little it is becoming a reality. Who can say restoring Felassan to wholeness is more difficult?" 

"An impossible dream," Ellana says slowly. "Cassandra, you just gave me an idea." 

"How concerned should I be?" 

"If it's any consolation, you don't have to be involved with this one." Cassandra raises her eyebrows. "I haven't had any luck getting through to Felassan on this side of the Veil. But what if I tried to reach him in the Fade?" 

"You know I can't begin to answer that." 

"Neither can I. I guess there's only one way to find out." 


	6. Chapter 6

The black shape looms above him, a nightmarish monolith of glowing eyes and slavering jaws. It doesn't matter how clever he is, how swift, how cunning. It knows what he has done. He has no prayer of escaping it. He cringes, shrinks in on himself, as if it won't happen if he doesn't see it coming, as if making himself as small as possible will stop what is coming - but the killing blow never strikes him. 

Green light creeps in at the edges of his squeezed-shut eyes. Experimentally, he lifts his head from beneath his arms and discovers his attacker has vanished. Someone else stands in its place: an elven woman in armor, bearing Dirthamen's vallaslin, beautiful, commanding, somehow familiar. The green light is seeping from a glowing mark on her left hand. She crouches beside him and says softly, "You're safe now." 

His voice, when he finds it, comes out in a hoarse croak. "What's happening to me?" 

"Do you know where you are?" 

At first, he shakes his head. The deep forest surrounding them is featureless and mysterious, shadowed by massive pine trees. But something about the sheer anonymity of the place, and its disconnection from anywhere he's been before, begins to jostle his memory. How did he get to where he is right now? What was happening before the beast tried to devour him? Try as he might, he can't remember - so there's only one place he can be. "I'm in the Fade." 

Relief replaces the inexplicable pity in the elven woman's face. "Good," she says. "What else do you remember?" 

Felassan concentrates as hard as he can. His memories feel distant and difficult to access, as if he is pushing toward them through thick curtains of spiderwebs. He's accustomed to having trouble focusing on his waking life while he's in the Fade (though how he knows this, he can't say), but never like this. "I've been gone so long," he says, but doesn't understand what would make him say it. 

The black shape creeps back into his awareness - smaller and less immediate this time, as if he's watching its approach from somewhere outside himself. He senses it coiling to strike, hears himself say, _They're stronger than you think, you know,_ then feels its power make contact. Part of him burns away too quickly for him to feel anything other than the initial blow - but another part of him survives. What remains of him falls away, spiraling downward, out of the Fade and back into the waking world, never again to return to the realm of dreams. _Or so I believed._

When he emerges from the memory he half expects himself to be awake, sealed away from himself again on the other side of the Veil, but he isn't. Instead he's sitting on the banks of a bubbling stream, dappled by sunlight filtering through greenery, with his bare feet in the cool water and a warm breeze ruffling his hair. The elven woman sits beside him. He trusts her, feels reassured to have her at his side, but he isn't sure why. "Welcome back," she says. 

"I died," he tells her. "In the Fade." He's starting to suspect "was killed" is more accurate than simply "died." He even has an idea of who struck the fatal blow. It's not worth complicating the matter by bringing it up right now. "But I'm guessing my body went on living without me." 

"Yes. It did." 

"How terrible." 

"It is. But what if I told you you could go back to your body whenever you wanted?" 

Felassan considers the possibility. He's always preferred the Fade to the walking world, in some ways. Being freed to explore it eternally without concern for his physical needs holds substantial appeal. But now that he's been reminded of his body, he can't shake the thought of it wandering the world without him, cut off from magic and from its own soul. His other self, and the people around him, must be suffering. It isn't right to let their suffering continue. "I'd like to," he says, "but I don't know how." 

She holds out her magic-drenched hand to him, the green glow bright as a star in her palm. "I can help you," she says, and he grabs hold before he has the chance to second-guess himself. 


	7. Chapter 7

Ellana wakes with a gasp and sits up in her bed. Behind her, Felassan thrashes and groans. The air around them is heavy with the energy of half-cast spells. Like far-off thunder she senses Cassandra gathering her Seeker's powers to disperse it, and cries out, "No, wait, stop!" 

Cassandra sounds dubious, and also as if she may be reaching for her sword. "Are you sure?" 

And Felassan's raspy voice responds, "Very." 

Ellana and Cassandra rush to the edge of the ward. Felassan is rising unsteadily to his feet, looking more lucid than he's been since they found him. A shiver runs through his entire body, and he leans against the nearest timber for support. His gaze falls on Ellana and recognition floods his face. "Ellana Lavellan? In the Fade, just now...Was that you?" 

"Yes." 

Felassan frowns as he studies her features. She knows her Fade-self looks very different from her waking self; try as she might to move on, some part of her remains stubbornly stuck in the past. _Please don't mention it,_ she thinks, but of course she's not so lucky. "You've changed so much," he says. "How long has it been?" 

"More than ten years since the last time we saw each other. The Arlathven before last. But probably more like four or five years since…" She licks her lips and swallows hard. "Since you were made Tranquil." 

Ellana isn't sure how he'll respond to the revelation. She's fully prepared for disbelief, or anger, or attempts to place blame, or for him to simply withdraw from the world again. Felassan's reaction is none of those. He draws in a deep, shuddering breath and lets it out as a low groan. A dozen wild emotions flicker across his face, but with a visible effort of will he keeps them in check. Instead he holds out his hand and kindles a bright ball of yellow flame in his open palm. "But I'm not Tranquil anymore," he says in astonishment as a tear rolls down his cheek. 

"No." She inclines her head toward Cassandra. "My friend found a way to reverse the Rite of Tranquility. She helped me use the procedure on you. It's risky, and we didn't know if it would work, but I thought...I don't know you as well as I'd like to, but when I found out you'd been made Tranquil I thought you wouldn't want to stay that way." 

"You were correct." Felassan can't look away. His grateful gaze is so intent as to be almost uncomfortable. Had his violet eyes always been so bright, or his cheekbones so sharp? "Thank you." 

"You're welcome," Ellana mumbles, feeling her heart accelerate. She worked so hard to assure Cassandra that lust hadn't weighed into her decision to go after Felassan, but her own body seems intent on proving her wrong. 

Suddenly the cabin becomes much brighter. The fire in Felassan's hand is growing, beginning to lick at the ceiling. "Felassan," says Cassandra in a tone of warning. 

His eyes go wide with concern. "I can't stop it." 

Cassandra lets out a noise of disgust. This time, Ellana doesn't stop her from unleashing her powers. Ellana's ears pop as the flame abruptly extinguishes itself. Felassan yelps and staggers backward, shaking out his undoubtedly stinging hand as he collapses onto a nearby crate. Ellana winces in sympathy; having your magic canceled out is never enjoyable. "Perhaps you should refrain from further testing," Cassandra says brusquely, "unless you want to explain to the Divine why and how we sank her ship." 

"Sorry," says Felassan. "Wait, though - we're on a ship? Where is it taking us?" 

"To the Free Marches," says Cassandra. "Specifically, to Clan Lavellan's lands near Wycome. I believe we have just passed Kirkwall. We will be at sea for another two weeks, presuming the winds stay favorable." 

"Yes, I've been there before," says Felassan with a faraway look in his eyes.

Ellana wonders if he's remembering what they did together during his previous visit. "I'm sure we can find plenty of ways to pass the time without magic," she says, and immediately wants to kick herself. _Yeah, that didn't sound suggestive._

Felassan either doesn't pick up on the implications or doesn't acknowledge them. _Foolish,_ Ellana tells herself, _you're so eager to get him back in your bed that you haven't even considered whether he wants to be there._ "I'll look forward to it," he says, and his wide and dazzling smile gives her reason to hold out hope. 


	8. Chapter 8

Much to everyone's relief, Felassan is immediately able to resume caring for his own physical needs. He eats with the enthusiasm of a starving man, bowled over by every combination of flavors, torn between his desire to savor every bite while also devouring the meal as quickly as possible. Ellana seems to find his enthusiasm amusing. "It's the same stew and hardtack we've had every night since we left Val Chevin," she says. "But I'm glad you're enjoying it." 

"I've missed _so much,_ " he says in amazement between spoonfuls. Food for a Tranquil was nothing more than fuel for the body, and the act of eating held no particular enjoyment. When he imagines the possibilities now before him, he wants to weep in gratitude and happiness. Sometimes he does. 

Ellana and Cassandra soon agree to release Felassan from the confines of the ward, provided that he doesn't use magic until they disembark. Avoiding magic is easy for him, but controlling his emotions remains a challenge. Everything feels sharper, harsher, closer to the surface, more difficult to bury or ignore. It's as if he has been suddenly dragged out into daylight after spending years in a cave, and now the same sun everyone else is accustomed to sears his sight and overwhelms his senses. 

Despite his newfound freedom, he can't bear to walk the decks of the ship for very long before retreating to the cabin to rest. The beauty of the sea and the sky fills him with too much joy. The swell of rough seas and a faint peal of thunder frighten him too profoundly. A sailor's mildly teasing joke stings like a barb and nearly brings him to tears. Such experiences are necessary, of course, if he wants to move freely through the world again, but too many of them at once threaten to upset his fragile equilibrium and plunge him back into his previous unfettered state. 

Through it all Ellana is with him, patient and understanding, listening carefully without sitting in judgment over him. She shepherds him through his most mercurial moods, helping him to discern which emotions are genuine and which are simply a byproduct of his recovery. He remembers their earlier encounter, of course; he revisited it often during lonely nights in the years afterward. Nor has he forgotten his wish to become better acquainted with her. Time and distance and change have not diminished this, nor have they blunted his desire for her. Yet he knows he needs to exercise more caution around this particular tangle of emotions than he does with any other. Even if she feels the same (which he can't be sure of), their current circumstances are far from ideal for rekindling a long-ago tryst. 

Of course, his raging passions constantly urge him not to wait. His head fills with fantasies of surprising her in her hammock, of finding an out-of-the-way corner of the hold and teasing her until she screams, or bending her over a railing and taking her in full view of all the sailors. Every time he tries to tell himself his feelings are too intense to be real, they come back even stronger than before. He can't act on them, maddening though it may be to push them aside. So he summons all his will and makes himself wait. Later, when the moment is right, he swears he'll find out whether she might feel the same. 

Felassan doesn't dare to touch her, so he talks to her instead. Day in and day out, from sunrise to sunset, their conversations go on and on until he wonders if they will ever run out of things to discuss. After they move beyond conversing about the details of their day-to-day experience, he finds himself listening more than he speaks. He has missed much during the years he spent as a Tranquil. Fortunately, Ellana was at the center of many recent major events, so he finds it relatively easy to become well-informed. 

Ellana does not shirk from telling him about her tenure as Inquisitor, or the Inquisition's trials as well as its triumphs. Her explanation of the Anchor and how she lost it answers many of his unasked questions about her missing arm. As detailed as her descriptions of events can be, he still senses there are things she's keeping from him. He can't speculate as to why, only hope she'll see fit to reveal it all to him someday. After all, he's keeping secrets from her, too. 

(He's most curious about her vanished vallaslin, a subject she studiously avoids. He's never known of any way to erase them so thoroughly. Nor does he understand why an elf so plainly committed to her Dalish clan would willingly give up the thing marking her as a member. Moreover, the fact that both her tattoos and her hand remain intact in the Fade, where most everyone appears the way they most desire to appear, tells him both losses are to some degree a source of regret. So he suppresses his questions as thoroughly as he suppresses his lust. He hopes someday she'll tell him the story.) 

"Don't you ever get tired of listening to me talk?" she asks him while they're standing together at the bow of the ship. It's one of those perfect days that could make anyone long for the sea, with a light salt-scented breeze and a clear blue sky and the bright sun glinting off the frothy crests of the waves. Off the port side the foothills of the Vimmark Mountains make a dazzling patchwork of autumn colors. It's beautiful enough to put a lump in his throat - or maybe he's responding to her. 

"No," he says, and it's the truth. "You must remember, I've been...away, let's call it...for a long time. My recent experiences have hardly been as interesting as yours." 

"I suppose. But surely you've still done _something_ interesting in your life." 

Felassan chuckles. "I assure you, you don't want me to revisit my boyhood. Nothing but embarrassing stories there, I'm afraid." 

"Those might be entertaining too," she says with a smile. "Actually, the Fade was closer to what I had in mind." 

"Ah." The interest in the dream realms Ellana showed during their first meeting has obviously persisted throughout her life. Even her experience with the Nightmare at Adamant Fortress seems only to have deepened her curiosity where it probably would have caused most people (even mages) to swear off the Fade forever. He gets the feeling that her experience didn't end there, though she's been somewhat vague on the particulars. It's perfectly logical that she'd want to know more. "Personally, I've never thought any story about the Fade really captures its essence. Have you ever tried to explain a dream to someone else after waking up? It never makes as much sense to others as it does to you when you're having it." 

"I don't know. I've heard plenty of stories from the Fade that made perfect sense." _Who told them to her?_ he wonders. "But if you'd prefer not to tell me, maybe we could make some of our own Fade stories instead." 

"Do you mean...?" 

"Sure, why not? Meet me there tonight and you can show me what you're talking about." 


	9. Chapter 9

Ellana tosses and turns in her hammock, although she wants nothing more than to fall asleep. She can't believe she actually told Felassan she wanted to share dreams with him. It seemed like such a good idea in the moment but she can't be sure he's ready for it - or, for that matter, that _she_ is. The attraction she feels for him is still just as strong as it was at their first meeting, but she doubts she should act on it now. In her questions about his adventures in the Fade she hears the echo of all the times she asked Solas the same things. Is she only trying to recreate what she had with Solas using Felassan as a stand-in? If she is, it isn't fair to anyone involved. 

But it also isn't fair to stand Felassan up when she's the one who suggested they get together. Even if she doesn't know what will come of their meeting, she has to at least give it a try. She closes her eyes and focuses on her breathing, letting it carry her down into sleep at last. 

From there, finding Felassan in the Fade isn't difficult. The light of his spirit burns almost as brightly as Solas's did, and his presence in a dream is unmistakable. Ellana finds him inside a dream of an ancient temple. White marble columns stretch upward to an impossible height as faint chanting and the scent of incense waft in from somewhere unseen. He stands alone in the center of the vast central chamber, studying the elaborate mosaic inlaid in the floor. He lifts his head as she approaches. "I see you found your way to me." 

"It wasn't difficult. I see why - " She almost says "Solas told me," but bites the words back. She doesn't feel like explaining all of that now. "I see why some mages consider the Fade to be so dangerous. If I can find you so easily, someone with bad intentions could surely do the same." 

He shrugs. "Keep in mind I wanted to be found by you. I have ways of concealing myself from entities I'd rather not meet. But you're right - mages who lack experience in the Fade tend to attract unwanted attention. You don't, though." As he studies her, she knows he's using more than just his eyes to see her. "I haven't met many Dreamers in the modern day." 

Something about having the term applied to her unsettles her. "I wouldn't call myself a Dreamer. Just a mage who's spent more time in the Fade than most. And what do you mean, 'in the modern day?' Do you have a lot of experience outside of it?" She tries to make a joke out of it, but it really isn't one. Considering how little information she has about Felassan's origins, he might well have acquired his knowledge of history the same way Solas did. So help her, she can't go through that again. 

"I meant it's a lost art. I seem to remember talking to you about this, long ago. Most mages of this age view the Fade as a source of demonic temptations rather than wisdom. You and I are both unusual in seeing it differently. I wonder where you learned to share dreams as you do. Certainly not from your Keeper." 

_Fenedhis. I've said too much._ "I had another mentor," she says vaguely, then tries to change the subject. "Regardless, I've never dreamed about this place before. Where are we?" 

"I believe it's a temple in Arlathan." 

There's no way anyone could construct such a soaring, elegant structure using modern techniques, even with magic on their side. "I've never seen anything like it. How did you find it?" 

"In fragments of dreams within dreams, gathered from many memories hidden within many minds. I stitched them together into something close to the truth. At least, as close as you can get in the Fade." 

"This mosaic is incredible," says Ellana, looking down at the floor. It reminds her of the images of the Creators she saw in the Temple of Mythal, but far more intricate. Elves in colorful armor and regalia fight against blocky grey figures with indistinct features. "What does it depict?" 

"I don't know. That's why I keep coming back to it. Since this place was probably a temple to Dirthamen, I suspect it represents some sort of historical event." 

"A temple to Dirthamen?" Even with her vallaslin long gone and her faith in the Creators all but shattered, her attention is still always drawn to any mention of the god she once considered her patron. "What kinds of things went on here?" 

"Based on how I've dreamed of it, it wasn't so different from the Temple of Mythal you told me about - though I doubt it held anything so prominent as the Well of Sorrows. It was likely a place where the ancient elves could go to petition Dirthamen for intervention in their affairs, or just to ask him to uncover a secret or fill in missing information. And you won't read this in the history books, but it's likely it served as a social club, too." 

The possibility is so unexpected that Ellana can't suppress a laugh. "What do you mean?" 

"Well, think about it. Does every human who walks into a chantry do so out of humble piety for Andraste and the Maker?" 

"No. Of course not." 

"Exactly. They go to pacify a relative, or to bask in the pretty candlelight, or to pick up a job off the chantry board, or because it's the best way to find a mate or catch up on all the local gossip. Why should our ancestors have been any different?" 

"You have a point. It's hard, sometimes, to remember they were all just people too. They loved and argued and laughed and dreamed just like we do." 

Felassan's smile turns suddenly wolfish. "Well, not _exactly_ like we do." 

He plainly wants her to take the bait, and she isn't too proud to rise to it. "What do you mean?" 

He holds out his hand. "Dream with me," he says, and she reaches for him before she can talk herself out of it. 

Ellana barely has a chance to register the pressure of Felassan's palm against hers - the skin warm and dry, the touch firm yet gentle - before she is somewhere else entirely. Immediately she realizes she must be dreaming of Elvhenan. She's sensed powerful magic before, knows well the weight of its power and the shiver of its presence prickling the back of her neck, but never like this. Here, it is as if all the barriers between the spirit realms and herself have fallen away. Here, she doesn't wield magic; she _is_ magic. _No wonder Solas wanted this again,_ she thinks, then curses herself for thinking of him at all. 

Gradually she becomes aware that she isn't alone. Another presence is there with her, felt more than seen, causing ripples and eddies in the currents of magic around her like a rock in the middle of a stream. _It must be Felassan._ Here, he's someone else just like she is, the echo of an ancient elf who survived in dream and memory. She extends her awareness toward him and feels the history they share, both within the dream and outside it. In the dream, they have come to Dirthamen's temple to settle a dispute, to petition the god for his wisdom and to determine whether they can come to some resolution at last. 

All the arguments they've made for their respective sides of the story hang around them like multicolored bubbles in the warm air. With a wave of her hand she wafts one toward him even as he does the same. When the translucent blue orb contacts her arm, she relives one of them all over again. This disagreement has gone on for centuries until it has become as comfortable and familiar as a well-worn pair of boots. It's been such a constant in her life that she isn't sure she wants it to end. 

She grips the blue bubble, stretches it, reforms it into a paint-like liquid. No matter the outcome of this argument, she wants it to stick to him like a memory that can't be easily brushed away. Dye covers him until he is the color of a summer sky. He sees what she's doing and matches her, seizing one of her own bubbles of argument and returning it to her. Instead of resisting, she becomes one with the paint, letting her red ideals mingle with his blue ones and shift to purple. She changes it and is changed by it. He does the same. 

He mixes in white to lighten their shared hue to lavender. She responds with a swirl of sunlight yellow. He splashes in stark splashes of red and she blends it all to orange. When he pours in green to muddy it all, she darkens it to black, then paints it all over in pale pink. The energy between them mounts as they mix themselves together, their earlier disagreement all but forgotten. This doesn't seem like an argument at all anymore. It's building into something even more intense, spreading through every part of her body, until… 

Ellana wakes with a shudder and a gasp in the pitch-dark of the cabin. Her hips jerk uncontrollably, strongly enough to set her hammock swinging, as a powerful climax cascades over her. Her cheeks go hot with embarrassment as the aftershocks subside. _Oh, Creators. I hope Cassandra slept through all of this._

From the area of Felassan's cot she hears a low groan and a rustle of fabric as he sits up. She casts a ball of light toward the ceiling to give them just enough illumination to see each other's heaving chests and surprised faces. Judging by the sweat beading on his brow and the way he's casting about for a wet rag, their shared experience must have had a similar effect on him. They share a sheepish smile but don't speak about it. What more is there to say? 


	10. Chapter 10

Despite the initial awkwardness of their visit to Dirthamen's temple, the Fade soon becomes Felassan and Ellana's preferred meeting place. They seem to have wordlessly agreed to let their conversations become more intimate, and there is really nowhere on a ship to talk without someone overhearing it. While Cassandra is kind to him, if a bit gruff and impatient, she is never far away even in the relative privacy of the cabin. That leaves dreams as the only other option. 

(Even in the Fade, they don't discuss the temple. He hadn't intended for the memory to take the turn it did, but when he tries to apologize for it she rebuffs him. "It was unexpected," she says, "but not unpleasant," and he lets the matter drop. Maybe someday he'll bring it up again, but a boat in the middle of the Waking Sea is definitely not the place for such a line of inquiry.) 

Still, she has other ways of surprising him. "I've been meaning to tell you," she says one night out of nowhere as they're hiking through an imposing and nameless mountain range, "I know about the Evanuris." 

Felassan keeps his tone studiously neutral. "What do you know about them? You'll have to be more specific." 

"The same things I'm pretty sure you know about them." 

He tires of such cat-and-mouse games. Ever since he regained his full awareness it's been clear she's keeping something from him, as if anything could diminish the trust he has placed in her. He doesn't blame her for being cautious around him, but at the same time he wishes she'd just get it over with. "Then there hardly seems any purpose in repeating it. We both got similar lessons from our Keepers, I'll wager." 

"I didn't learn this from any Keeper. You wouldn't have, either. But I doubt anyone could travel as far into the Fade as you have without learning that they were never really gods. Just powerful mages, mad with power, who needed to be overthrown and sealed away for the good of the world. You understand that...right?" 

She's right; the news doesn't come as a surprise to him. He's less certain of how she expects him to react, so he settles on maintaining flat detachment for now. "I do. I have for a long time. I learned it in the Fade, just as you suspected. What makes you bring them up now?" 

Ellana shrugs. "I want to make sure we get everything out in the open." 

_Careful,_ he tells himself. This, too, must be part of her strategy. "Not many elves know this part of our story, it's true. Where did you hear it?" 

"Do you remember the mentor I mentioned?" Felassan nods. "It was him. He told me a lot of things I'd never been taught - like the meaning of the vallaslin. Are you aware they started as slave markings?" 

"I did, yes." 

"For how long? Since before you knew me?" He nods again. "Then why didn't you _tell_ me?" 

"As a newly elevated First, would you have believed me? Or that you would have had any interest in hearing it? Besides, we only had the one night together - and as I recall, we spent it rather occupied with other matters." 

Ellana takes a deep, shuddering breath and calms herself. "You're right. These things take time. It's just…" She shakes her head. "When my mentor told me about the vallaslin, I couldn't get them off my face fast enough. But you've kept yours." 

"You assume I know how to remove them." 

"Maybe this is too much of a personal question, but...If you could, would you?" 

"No." 

"Why not?" 

"The cynical answer would be that keeping them makes it easier to get what I want from the Dalish. But that's not the only reason. I think...sometimes things don't have to carry the same meaning forever. Neither of us knew the origin of the vallaslin when we got them. We got them to prove we were a part of something larger than ourselves, and maybe I still want to be that." Idly, Felassan traces one finger along the purple branches decorating his temples and forehead. "I wouldn't want to be a slave to Mythal, like you say that human mage is now. But I can still embody the things Mythal stood for - the Mythal from the stories, not the real one. Justice, and nurturing, and mercy." 

"And love." 

"That too." 

At some point in the conversation she's stopped showing him the self from her memories, the young woman he met and seduced and never forgot. The Ellana who stands before him now is Ellana as she is in the waking world: older, harder, wounded, yet stubbornly hopeful somewhere beneath the armor of her doubts. "I want to trust you," she says. "It's just…" She shrugs, and doesn't finish the sentence before she blinks out of the Fade and back into wakefulness. Felassan shakes his head and lets himself sink deeper into dreams, hoping to distract himself but knowing it will fail. He can't fault her for her reaction. Based on what she just told him about her mentor, there is only one person it could be. 


	11. Chapter 11

The next day, Felassan finds Ellana on the deck of the ship, coiling up a rope that was already tidy to begin with. "Can we talk?" he asks, nervously twisting the hem of his shirt. 

She answers his question with a question. "About what?" She's sure her newly brusque attitude must confuse him, but there's no other way she can think of to act. What happened in the Temple of Dirthamen was too easy, too comfortable. Now more than ever, she knows better than to let herself fall for a man who's still half a stranger, no matter how fondly she remembers him. Look where love led her the last time. 

His gaze flickers toward the nearby sailors swabbing the deck and patching the sails. "Maybe we shouldn't get into it here. Things are easier for me in the Fade." 

A harsh bark of disbelieving laughter escapes her throat. "I've heard that one before." 

Frustration clouds his face, and he yanks so hard at his shirt that she hears the fabric tear. "I know your mentor was Fen'Harel," he blurts out. 

_Oh. No wonder he's so tense._

She drops the rope, disregarding the way it erupts into a sudden heap of tangles, and takes him by the elbow. He stiffens at her touch, and she whispers in his ear, "Yeah, you're right, this isn't a middle-of-the-deck conversation. Let's go back to the cabin." He nods and lets her lead him. 

Inside, Cassandra is lounging in her hammock. She hastily hides the trashy novel she's reading when she hears the door swing open. Something of what Ellana needs must show in her face, because before she can speak, Cassandra says hastily, "I believe I need some fresh air." She gives Ellana's shoulder a firm squeeze as she walks by and leaves them alone. 

"How did you know Fen'Harel had returned?" Ellana demands as soon as Cassandra is gone. 

"Because I was one of his agents. I might still be." 

A furious, gathering energy seems to leave the tiny room - as if a brewing storm has suddenly been replaced with a blue and cloudless sky. _There they are,_ she thinks wearily, _our secrets. Finally they're all right here in the open. It's funny - they're smaller than I thought they would be._ "For how long?" she hears herself ask. 

"It started a few years after you and I met. He wasn't awake in our world before then. I kept hearing rumors about him, or someone calling himself by that name, but I figured they were just wild stories until he approached me." 

"What sort of work did he have you doing?" 

"Spying on the Dalish, mostly. Feeding him information, developing contacts and assets to be called on later. I failed at the only major job he ever gave me. He wanted me to get him the passphrase for a network of eluvians." 

It's all falling into place for her now - the Crossroads, and the Daarvarad, and all the things Solas said and did to her in the elven ruins beyond the last eluvian. The space where her left arm used to be stings and tingles with the memory. "He found a way in anyway." 

The news hits Felassan like a physical blow. He steps backwards and drops down to his cot so abruptly that at first she fears he has collapsed. She rushes to sit beside him. "It was all for nothing, then," he says. 

"What do you mean?" 

"I should have been clearer...I could have given him the passphrase. I chose not to. And in exchange…" 

"Wait, this sounds really familiar. You said that was how you became Tranquil. Do you mean _Solas_ did that to you?" 

"He killed me while we were in the Fade, yes. More than likely, he didn't know that it wouldn't kill my body. For all that he created it, there's a lot he doesn't understand about how the Veil works. He's just as ignorant as the rest of us about it." 

Finally speaking freely feels to Ellana as if she can finally breathe fresh air again without ever having known she was underwater before. "He was always appalled by the Rite of Tranquility. I like to think he wouldn't have subjected anyone to it on purpose." 

"It's funny. I chose to follow Fen'Harel because he promised me freedoms the Dalish never could. Freedom to learn, and speak my mind, and change the world for the better. But when I told him I thought I'd found a way to change the world that wouldn't cost so many lives, he couldn't abide it. Perhaps he never truly fought for my freedom after all." 

"That is...consistent with my experience of him, yes." She knows she has to tell him the rest of it, but that doesn't make it any easier. "You see...there are things I've been keeping from you, too. The person you knew as Fen'Harel, I knew as an apostate mage named Solas. I'm pretty sure I mentioned him before when we talked about the Inquisition. And he wasn't just my mentor. We were lovers, too." 

Cautiously, tentatively, Felassan rests a hand on her shoulder. His face fills with sympathy. However Ellana might have been expecting him to react, this isn't it. "I'm sorry," he says softly. 

She shrugs. The pain of Solas's betrayal healed long ago. When he left her, she went through much the same progress as her arm later would, moving from open wound to scab to scar. Like her arm, it's as healed now as it will ever be. She won't ever be the same as she was before, but she's learned to compensate. At least that's what she thought. Felassan's reaction brings a twinge she hasn't felt in ages. "It's all in the past now," she says. "I don't owe him anything anymore." A tear prickles at the corner of her eye as she speaks, and she wipes it away with the heel of her hand. 

"When we get back to your clan, I understand if you don't want me to stay." 

Of all the ways she might have expected him to respond, this was one she'd never imagined. "Why would I want that?" 

"I was Fen'Harel's ally once. You have every reason in the world to mistrust me." 

"And I was more than his ally once. Since then, things have changed. It sounds to me as though you had already chosen a different path from the one he wanted you to walk, long before we met. Unless I'm mistaken and you intend to return to him?" 

He huffs out a disbelieving laugh. "No." 

"Neither do I," she says, covering his hand with her own. "So I don't see any reason for you to leave if you don't want to." 

"I don't," he says. He's looking directly at her now, his face just inches from hers. Before, when they first met, had she ever noticed the unusual violet color of his eyes, or the way it matched his vallaslin? Right now it's all she can think about. 

It feels like the most natural thing in the world to lean in and kiss him. When their lips meet, he doesn't pull away. His hand slides downward, into the small of her back, and she relaxes into his embrace. And in that moment she feels something she hadn't even realized was broken begin the slow process of renewal and repair. Ellana can't fix everything that has gone wrong in Thedas since the Breach. But maybe she can still fix this one thing. 


	12. Chapter 12

From then on, everything is different between them. With their shared connection to Fen'Harel finally revealed, Ellana lets go of the last scraps of reticence she's been holding on to and tells Felassan all the things she left out about the Inquisition. Corypheus's plans make much more sense when he knows of Fen'Harel's meddling in them, as does her loss of the Anchor when he learns who took it away. She is understandably curious about his own involvement with Fen'Harel, but in truth there is little to tell. To Felassan, he was a distant collaborator, appearing in person only to give assignments and dispense reward or punishment. Ellana's interactions with him were much more extensive, and her relationship with him much deeper and richer. The more he learns, the more he finds himself feeling unexpectedly sorry for the Dread Wolf - and the more certain he becomes that he can never go back. 

Fen'Harel had never stated his goal of unmaking the Veil outright. In retrospect, he implied it often, but it was always couched in vague promises of restoring the elves to their glory. For a solitary mage like Felassan who felt disrespected and unseen by his peers, it made for a seductive idea. He sees now that it was always a lie. Much has gone wrong in reality as it is, but too much of value remains for him to want to throw it all away. _Ellana, for one._

No more must he wonder if their single night together was a thing of the past, or if their encounter in the Fade was merely an embarrassing accident. Her desire for him (and his for her) is plain. They steal kisses whenever they can, during rare moments alone on the decks or in the cabin when Cassandra is away, but they don't dare take things any further. Even when they meet in the Fade they are both cautious. Neither of them wants to unleash something they might not be able to stop once it begins. 

"What do you want to do now?" Ellana asks him one night as they dream together. Here, as in the other world, they sail together on the Waking Sea - but here they travel as the ancient elves did, in a small boat made of crystal with a giant green leaf for a sail. Colorful flowers twine around the mast and the oars, perfuming everything around them with the smell of rain. 

"I'd like to get control of my magic again. Find a safe place to practice, and relearn all the things I'm sure I've forgotten. After that? I haven't decided yet." 

"Would you like me to help you?" 

"Of course I would." She's lying in his arms, which makes it easy to kiss the top of her head. "Unless it would keep you from your other obligations." 

There's a long pause before she replies. "There are things I need to accomplish eventually. But right now, none of them are a higher priority. Besides, it's hardly fair for me to do all this to you without making sure you're healthy and stable." 

"That reminds me of something I've been meaning to ask you." 

"Oh?" 

"Why _did_ you track me down in the first place? I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but...You're not fond of Tranquility as a concept. I get that. But surely there were other Tranquil nearer by to you. Why not go after one of them? You barely know me." 

"None of those other Tranquil would have as much experience with the Fade as you do."

"Why should that matter?"

This time the pause is even longer. "I want to tell you," Ellana says. "But I need to talk to Cassandra about something first. Ask me again when we get to Wycome. Please?" 

It's not the answer Felassan wanted to hear. But he's trusted her with so much already that trusting her with a little more doesn't seem like much of a challenge. "All right," he says, and embraces her more tightly. "I will." 


	13. Chapter 13

The final few days of the voyage drag on as if they will never end. Ellana had never been on a boat before Keeper Deshanna sent her to the Conclave, and although she's become better able to cope with the motion of the sea than she could during that first queasy journey, she's never truly grown to enjoy it. But the trip reaches its end, as it always must. As soon as the ship's dinghy ties up to the docks in Wycome harbor, she rushes to feel solid ground beneath her feet again. Maybe now she can stay in one place for a while - and maybe she'll be so fortunate as to have Felassan by her side. 

Cassandra takes her leave as soon as her luggage is unloaded. The Seekers have business for her in Wycome and the rest of the Free Marches. Felassan bids her farewell with a firm handshake and a warm smile. "Thank you for what you did for me," he says. "I'll never forget it." 

"I only did what was right," Cassandra says, and claps him on the shoulder. She turns to Ellana and nods once, curtly, as understanding passes between them. A few nights ago, while Felassan slept, they whispered together in the dark of the cabin until they reached an agreement. _If you know him, and you trust him, then I trust you,_ Cassandra had said at last, and with that the decision was made. The last secret Ellana was keeping from him wouldn't have to be a secret for much longer. 

Cassandra tries to depart without further ado, but Ellana won't let her get away without a hug. The warmth and firmness of the embrace belies her grumbling. "Take care," says Ellana. "We'll see each other again soon." 

"I am certain we will, my friend." 

An aravel is waiting near the docks to take them to Clan Lavellan's lands. Felassan lets out a low whistle of amazement as he clambers up into the passenger seat. "Since when do the Dalish come right into the city like this?" 

"Since Keeper Deshanna got a seat on the Wycome city council," Ellana says as she slides in next to him. Then, seeing his raised eyebrows: "A lot has changed since you've been away. With luck, we can change things even more." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

"I'll tell you about it when we get to the clan lands." 

The new dirt road leading to Clan Lavellan is well-maintained, and the trip doesn't take long. Ellana lets her hand slip into Felassan's as they ride, watching the city give way to wilderness as the golden afternoon light lengthens into evening. After the confinement of the ship's cabin, the open world seems enormous and the possibilities endless. She doesn't know where to begin. She hopes he'll help her figure it out. 

Keeper Deshanna is waiting for them when the aravel pulls up to the center of camp. She can't disguise her astonishment when Felassan hops out, bows to her, and says with friendly familiarity, "Keeper Deshanna! It's been much too long. I'm so sorry to have missed you at the last Arlathven. As you may have heard, I was unavoidably detained." 

"I don't know what I was expecting," Deshanna says, "but it wasn't this. Felassan, I thought you were…" 

"Tranquil? Yes, for a time. Your First kindly saw me to the other side of that dreadful state." Felassan shudders theatrically. 

Ellana doesn't think Deshanna's eyes can get any wider, but somehow they do. "You never cease to amaze me, _da'len_ ," she murmurs. "Will both of you be staying, then?" 

"Not for long," says Ellana. "But if you'll give us a few days to collect ourselves and decide on our next steps, we'd be grateful." 

Without warning, Deshanna sweeps both Ellana and Felassan up in a tight hug. "Clan Lavellan is always open to you," she says, which may be the greatest honor Ellana has ever known. "Which reminds me. The clan's team of builders put something together for you while you were away." 

The hut Clan Lavellan built for Ellana is modest - a single room containing little more than a fireplace, a bed stuffed with halla wool, and a rough-hewn table and chairs. It's still the kindest gift anyone has ever given her. Her eyes well up as she realizes, _In spite of everything I've done and all the ways I've changed, I'll always have a home with my clan, no matter what. It's all I ever could have wanted._ But Deshanna doesn't stick around to be thanked for nearly as long as she deserves. "I'll give you some space to enjoy it," she says with a knowing grin as she closes the door behind her. 

Ellana brings back portions of blackened fish and roasted root vegetables from the central cookfire, along with a loaf of bread and a carafe of wine. She and Felassan eat at the table in comfortable silence. The ground is stable beneath her, no longer pitching and rolling with the waves, and the air smells of home again instead of salt spray. Felassan cleans his plate and pushes his chair away. "I suppose I'd best let you get some rest." 

She hears the teasing note in his voice and decides to play along. "And just where do you think you're going?" 

"The last I checked, your lovely new house only has one bed. I wouldn't want to prevent you from stretching out and enjoying it." 

"Who said that's the kind of enjoyment I had in mind?" She leans over the table and kisses him, deep and languid and slow in the way of people who know they won't be interrupted. _I could do this all night,_ she thinks, but there's something else she needs to do first. 

Felassan breaks away to trail kisses down her neck. "Is this more like it?" 

"Yes," Ellana gasps, "but can I tell you something first?" 

He stops immediately, and she pulls her chair around to sit with her knees touching his. Her heart is pounding in her chest. "The thing I said I left out before," she says, "it didn't only affect me. But I have leave from the others to tell you now. The Inquisition isn't over. Officially it's been disbanded, but some of us are still doing what we can, behind the scenes. We intend to find Solas and to prevent his plan from succeeding. We'll save him if we can, but our first goal is to stop him. What you know, what you can do...it could be invaluable to us. I would be honored if you would join us." 

Felassan's jaw hangs slightly open. At first, he doesn't seem to know how to respond. "I still don't have control of my magic," he says at last. "It may never return to me the way it once was. If it doesn't, I'm not sure I'll be much use to you." 

"I believe it will," says Ellana. "I'll help you however I can. And even if your magic ends up working differently when all is said and done, your knowledge won't have changed. It still has value. _You_ still have value. The Inquisition didn't cast me aside when I lost the Anchor, did it?" 

"You have a point. All the same...You would involve me even after I worked for Fen'Harel? After all of it, you find me trustworthy?" 

"Shouldn't I? Do you intend to go back to him?" 

"Of course not! It's only...I didn't expect you to trust me so much." 

"Felassan...I've always known you to be a man who chooses his own path. You went to Fen'Harel because you believed in his cause. Now you believe differently. And who you are now matters more to me than whatever you did in the past." 

He laughs. "Whoever this Felassan is, he does sound like someone you'd want on your side." 

"So is that a yes, or a no?" 

"Yes," he says, and kisses her again. They hold each other as evening gives way to night, lost in each other's arms as the fire burns low in the hearth. In time his fingers loosen the lacings on her shirt, tracing her collarbone, beginning to dip lower. 

"Tell me," asks Felassan as his hand cups her breast beneath the fabric. "Did you ever learn to cast the spell I gave you, all those years ago?" 

Anticipation coils between her legs. "I daresay I've mastered it." 

His violet eyes flicker toward the bed. "Would you like to show me?" 

"There's nothing I want more." 

They cross to the mattress and lie down beside each other, kissing and caressing and stroking as they slowly shed their clothing. Long ago, in the forest, it was too dark for Ellana to get a good look at Felassan's nude form. Now she can appreciate him by firelight, taking in the slender lines of his limbs and the muscles of his chest and abdomen and the way every part of his body responds to her touch. 

Felassan seems equally taken with the sight of her. Just like before, he can't keep his hands or his mouth off her breasts. He plays with them until she's ready to burst. At last he begins to move lower. "I've never forgotten how sweet you tasted," he says between kisses to her taut belly. "Will you let me taste you again?" 

"I thought you'd never ask," she says, and spreads her legs. 

Her climax arrives with almost disappointing speed, within a handful of heartbeats from when he first puts his mouth on her. Fortunately, neither of them is inclined to stop so soon. With his tongue and his finger he brings her to another peak again, pulling away from her only after she whimpers and goes limp as the last wave of pleasure ebbs. He sits up, breathing heavily. "I can't wait any longer," he says. 

"Good. Neither can I." 

Ellana doesn't have to ask how he wants her. Instead, he lies down on his back and lifts her on top of him. She positions herself above him and looks him in the eye as she sinks all the way down. She knows they've both dreamed of this moment for so long. Now that it's here, she is anything but disappointed. His hips lift to match her rhythm as she begins to rock back and forth. Loud moans spill from his throat, joining her own intensifying cries. At last, they can make as much noise as they want. His long fingers slip between them and find the tiny bundle of nerves at the apex of her legs, and improbably she feels another climax mounting "Oh," she gasps, "I'm going to…" She can tell by the noises he makes that he's joining her, spiraling down with her into a vortex of pleasure that ends with them lying boneless and spent in each other's arms. 

At first, Felassan is too overwhelmed to speak. "Am I being too emotional again," he finally says when he can catch his breath, "or is this love?" 

"If you're being too emotional, so am I." 

He turns his head to kiss her again and she closes her eyes, lost in contentment. Ellana doesn't know what the future will bring, or if their fight against Fen'Harel can even succeed. But now, with Felassan by her side, she has never been more certain of finally being on the right path. 

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title from ["Waking Up" by Happy Rhodes.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mq8h3QY4Gm0)


End file.
